


A Catalogue of Afternoons

by Morbidmuch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, Dystopian, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut, Terminal Illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidmuch/pseuds/Morbidmuch
Summary: A series of drabbles exploring the relationship between Hermione Granger and Severus Snape.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 152
Kudos: 288
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	1. Dance

**Author's Note:**

> The drabbles will be varying in genre and rating, and will be between 150-300 words each. Each drabble was inspired by a word, and my goal is to do all 100 prompts. I will update the tags as I go along.

**DANCE**

He loves watching her in the kitchen, especially when she's got the wireless on. She dances between the cutting board and the pan on the cooker, hips moving in time with the beat and her voice clear as she sings along ( _“These words are my own, from my heart flown. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”_ ). He leans in the open doorway, arms crossed and a rare smile on his stern face. If she knows he's there, she doesn't let him know.

The smell of garlic and chilli wafts from the pan, sizzling in the hot oil. On the next chorus she spins around, stirring spoon raised high and curls bouncing around her shoulders. She stops when she spots him and grins. “Hi.”

His smile widens slightly. “Hello.”

“Have you been standing there long?”

He pushes himself off the frame and enters the kitchen fully. A flick of his wrist and the volume on the wireless mutes. “Long enough.” He catches her by the hips to pull her close.

She raises her arms around his neck, careful not to hit him with the spoon. “Lurker.”

He leans down, lips almost touching. “Only for you.”


	2. Treat

**TREAT**

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. Will she ever get tired of the smell of books? She hopes not. The snow that is falling silently outside the bookshop window is only heightening the warm feeling in her chest. She loves this time of year. Flourish and Blotts' big post-Christmas sale is more important to her than all the mince pies and pigs in blankets in the world. She's not bought any new books since Halloween – it's been torture, really – and her fingers are itching to run over spines and flip through pages. Her shopping list (which is only two pages long, thank you very much) is securely tucked away in her coat pocket as she moves determinately through shoppers. She's got her sights on a specific book she's been dying to get her hands on for weeks. It's still expensive, but it's a treat. Circe knows she needs it.

Finally reaching the proper section, she huffs when she sees a tall wizard standing right in front of where her book is. She squares her shoulders. No one comes between Hermione Granger and books. Stomping over, she realises too late who it is. Metaphorically putting on her big girl pants, she clears her throat.

“Hello, Severus.”

He turns his head slightly, looking down at her with an impassive gaze. “Granger.”

Her chest turns to ice.


	3. Sand

**SAND**

Why did he let her talk him into this? Oh, yes, she was riding him within an inch of his life when she asked and he could do nothing more than to babble _yesyesyesyes._ She could be positively Slytherin when she chose to. Merlin, how he loathes this. The only upside – and it truly is a big one – is seeing Hermione in sundresses, short skirts and (Salazar's saggy ballsack) bikinis. He owes a great deal of gratitude to whoever invented the bikini.

Seeing his lover's skin turn gently golden, tasting the sun on her skin and her amazing arse in those bikini bottoms more than make up for the fact that there is sand _everywhere_. In his hair, in his ears, in his bleeding swimming trunks. It turns the water at the bottom of the shower brown and gritty and he loathes it.

Hermione exits the bathroom. “Are you ready to head to the beach, love?”

He eyes the light green bikini she's wearing – of course, it has to be green – and stands from the bed. “Yes, dear.”


	4. Crime

**CRIME**

He always knew that if he had the misfortune of surviving the war, he would be dragged in front of the Wizengamot to answer for his crimes. Being convicted isn't a surprise, neither is the sentence of ten years in Azkaban. At least the Dementors are gone. If he's lucky, he might even make it out with his sanity intact.

What does come as a surprise is when the guard on duty (Perkins, Ravenclaw, graduated in '85) fetches him from his cell on the first Sunday of his sentence. He stands gingerly from the cot; he's not yet got used to the band around his ankle that suppresses his magic.

“What's going on?” he asks, and his voice is rough from both misuse and the still healing tissue. He's on five different medicinal potions to combat the damage that bloody snake did.

“Visiting hour,” Perkins replies, fastening the cuffs around his bony wrists.

He is thoroughly confused as he's led down the corridor towards the visiting room. It's small, barely bigger than his cell, and a dingy metal table and two chairs are the only furniture. He blinks against the harsh lighting; he's used to the constant dimness of his cell. Once he'd adjusted to the light he sees a small figure standing by the table.

Hermione Granger smiles nervously, eyes big and scared in her too-thin face. “Hello, Professor.”


	5. Break

**BREAK**

She's fidgeting, wringing her hands together and glancing nervously at her watch. From behind the closed door she can hear his voice, talking about hex deflection (an image comes to mind of putting up wards in the forest of Dean with Ron's blood on her hands) and assigning twenty inches due after the hols. The door slams open and her hands fly down to her sides as the students start piling out into the hallway, grumbling amongst themselves about the homework. No one dares make a fuss in the classroom, though.

Once the last student has gone down the hallway, Hermione enters the classroom. He's got his back towards her, erasing the writings on the blackboard with his wand. Her shoes creak and he turns. It's subtle, but she fancies the grove between his eyebrows lessens slightly.

“Professor Granger,” he says with a slight nod.

She pushes the door shut with her foot. “Severus.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Hermione.”


	6. Warm

**WARM**

He grits his teeth, fingers clenching in her wild curls. He looks down at her through half-lidded eyes, and meets her gaze. He twitches. He can pretend to be the one in control all he wants, but it is she who holds all the power.

Fuck, she's beautiful.

Her skin is flushed, eyes dark as he thrusts his cock between her pink lips. Her mouth is warm and tight, and every time he hits the back of her throat she moans. She enjoys this as much as he does, and he groans when he thinks about how wet he knows she is. When he has come, he's going to wrap her thighs around his head and make her scream.

His fingers tighten in her hair. He's getting close. He gets lost in her brown eyes, and unconsciously he penetrates her mind. Fuckfuckfuck. He can feel her arousal, her love, can see himself the way she sees him. Suddenly he's coming, and he's groaning and thrusting helplessly into her mouth. She swallows around him, and his knees weaken.

Once he's regained control of himself, he slips out of her mouth and loosens his grip on her curls. She's panting slightly, wriggling against the tie keeping her hands clasped at the small of her back. He touches the side of her face.

“Now it's your turn, love.”

She closes her eyes and smiles. “Thank you, sir.”


	7. Name

**NAME**

She hasn't always been proud of her name. When she was little it was another reminder that she was different (having a name like Hermione with her bushy hair and those teeth?) another thing the other kids made fun of her for. Her mum used to stroke her hair when she cried over another cruel nickname – _They're just jealous, darling. It's unique and beautiful, just like you_ – but it never made her feel better. Once she found out she was a witch, she decided she would wear the name with honour. It's why she hates nicknames (though she's given up on correcting Ron's use of 'mione). She is Hermione Jean Granger, and she is proud of that.

Never before has her name sounded as sweet as it does falling from his lips, voice hoarse from the damage made by Nagini on the night she almost lost him before she knew she wanted him. Whether it's said with exasperation, fondness or sighed out in pleasure it makes her heart flutter. Her favourite time hearing him say her name comes on a day in late November when she gets caught in a rainstorm and dashes into their chambers trailing water everywhere.

His eyes grow warm, and his hands flex and he rasps out, “Hermione, will you marry me?”

She soaks his robes when she jumps him crying out, “Yes, of course, yes!”

She decides that Hermione Jean Granger-Snape has a nice ring to it.


	8. Quill

**QUILL**

_Scratch scratch scratch._

His eye twitches. He inhales deeply, steadily, to avoid snapping at the girl – woman – at the desk next to his. He continues his reading, finger tapping a rhythm on the edge of his teacup.

_Scratch scratch scratch._

His head shoots up and he glares at her. Her bushy head is bent over the desk, so she doesn't even notice. Rude. He continues to glare for a few seconds for good measure, then bends back over his own work. Her apprenticeship has gone smoothly thus far; they are both alive, have all their body parts and no one has been hexed. There are only weeks left, and from nowhere everything she does gets underneath his skin.

_Scratch scratch scratch._

All right, that is enough. Gritting his teeth, he stands, leaning his hands against the desk. “Must you do that?”

She stops writing and looks up. “Do what?”

“Write in such a manner,” he snarls. “It's like a dragon claw against a chalkboard.”

Her eyes flash with rage as she stands. “Me? What about you muttering to yourself every five seconds? It's very irritating!”

In two steps he's looming over her, and she turns up her chin as her eyes narrows. The air is tense, he breaths heavily through his nose and her hair is practically crackling with her rage. By Merlin, she is magnificent. It's hard to say who moves first – does he lean down or does she press up? – but their mouths meet in an explosion of hands and teeth and lips and tongues and it's like he can breathe again for the first time in years.


	9. Punch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible at replying to comments, but I see and appreciate all of you ❤

**PUNCH**

By Nimuë, she doesn't want to be here. She's been avoiding Ron's sweaty hands all evening ( _“We've broken up, Ronald!”_ ) and now he's sulking in a corner. Ginny isn't speaking to her, and poor Harry is trying to meddle between them all (unsuccessfully). The war has been over for a grand total of seven months and everything's already gone tits up.

She takes refuge by the punch bowl, and it takes her a moment to realise she's not alone. Professor Snape – Well, he isn't a professor anymore, is he? – nearly blends in with the wall, clothes and hair and eyes as black as the wallpaper. His narrow face is pale though, and he's glaring at the room.

She nods curtly. “Sir.”

His eyebrow arches and he gives the slightest nod. He's lost the use of his voice due to Nagini's venom and she can't imagine how hard it must be for him.

Taking a sip of the punch, she grimaces. Ugh, is that just pure alcohol? She puts it down by the bowl. “Are you having a good time?”

He rolls his eyes, and she giggled softly.

“Yeah, me too.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Do you think anyone would notice if we escaped to the library?”

He jerks his head as if to say “Let's go,” and they disappear up the dark stairs.


	10. X-Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for terminal illness.

**X-RAY**

She wrings her hands, twisting the band on her ring finger until it almost burns. His hands cover hers, and she looks over at him.

“It'll be all right, love,” he tries to sound reassuring but she can tell that he's scared and angry.

She gives a wan smile. “You're probably right.”

The florescent lighting is doing nothing for his colouring; he looks little better than a corpse. She's sure she doesn't look too good either. Who would be, if you went to hospital for migraines only to be told "there's a shadow on your x-ray"?

The doctor enters, and she stiffens. He takes a seat behind the desk, sighs and clasps his hands in front of him. She looks wide-eyed as he starts to speak. She recognises the words, but they don't make any sense to her. Things like ”several tumours”, “inoperable”, and “six months, a year at the most.” What does that even mean?

Beside her, Severus exhales shakily.


	11. Photograph

**PHOTOGRAPH**

“Uh huh,” she says non-committally into the receiver, twirling a curl and checking the clock next to the fridge. He's due home any minute. Her mother is still talking, giving a very detailed account of Aunt Sheila's cruise around the Mediterranean. There are some details that she does not need to know, thank you very much.

She moves into the sitting room, plopping down in the armchair and leaning back against the armrest. “Oh, really?”

Her eyes wander to the photographs covering the walls, a mixture of Muggle and Magical ones that make her smile. The newest addition is her favourite, its place proudly over the sofa. It shows her own laughing face, eyes closed and a crown of baby's breath in her hair. He stands next to her, dark to her light, face turned sideways to the camera as he watches her. Though he looks stern, she can see the warmth in his eyes and the slight curl of his lips. She glances down to where a wedding band has joined her engagement ring. She's still not used to being his wife.

The fireplace turns green, and he Floos through seconds later. She smiles at him, motioning to the phone by her ear. He steps out of the fireplace and shrugs his outer robes from his shoulders. Walking over to her, he puts a hand on the back of the armchair and leans down. She lowers the phone as their lips meet softly.

_“Are you there? Hermione, are you even listening to me?”_


	12. Race

**RACE**

She throws her head back in her climax, nails raking down his back and crying out. He grits his teeth and tries his damnedest to hang on. She has come three times already and he's dangerously close to tipping over the edge himself.

He pulls out, despite her protests, and scoots down so he's eye level with her dripping centre. Without mercy he ducks down and pulls her clit into his mouth, grabbing her hips tightly to avoid getting his nose smashed as she moans and trashes. A minute later she's coming all over his tongue and his mouth is filled with the taste of her.

Once she's flopped back bonelessly against the bed, he rises to his knees and wipes his wet mouth with the back of his hand. Pulling her towards him by her hips, he arranges her legs around him and slides back into her warm sheath. She lets out a tired moan and her thighs tighten around him. He focuses his thrusts on that spongy part inside her that makes her keen; hoping to push her over the edge again. It's a race against time, he can feel it in the tightening of his balls and lower back so he brings his fingers down to her clit. His orgasm hits seconds before hers do, and their mixed cries echo in the room. Exhausted, he collapses by her side.

Beside him, Hermione giggles. “I can't feel my legs.”


	13. Shatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Deals with a medical abortion.

**SHATTER**

Their relationship is easy – no drama, good communication, amazing sex. They disagree on things for sure, but when they started dating they made a promise never to walk away in anger and they stick to that. Severus runs the Apothecary in Hogsmeade, Hermione is the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. They have a small house with a yellow front door in the village, two kneazles that they adore and generally think that life is pretty perfect.

Then Hermione's period is late.

She Apparates to the nearest Muggle town – which is Dufftown – and buys three pregnancy tests from Tesco. She knows the charm is both quicker and more accurate, but she's not taking any chances.

In their small upstairs bath – with its claw-foot tub and gauzy curtains – she pees on the three sticks and then points the wand to her abdomen. A muttered spell, and there's a fluttering feeling before the tip turns green. She feels like she might be sick. It's been two minutes, and she checks the tests on the windowsill. All three show positive. Knees weak, Hermione sinks down on the toilet. She feels light-headed, and tries to breathe deeply. She can't remember that anxiety breathing her therapist taught her.

Her fingers grip the side of the counter.

“Severus?” she calls out, because she can't breathe and he'll help her breathe. With him, she can breathe.

There's footsteps on the stairs, then the door is pushed open.

“Hermione, what's wrong?” Severus kneels in front of her, black eyes worried and hands clasping the outsides of her thighs.

When she can breathe again, she meets his eyes. “I'm pregnant.”

He inhales sharply, brow furrowing. “Oh.”

Hermione nods, and reaches out to push his lank hair behind his ear. “Yes.”

There is a moment of silence before he speaks. “Shall I brew the potion?”

She nods again. “Yes.”

Severus stands and holds out his hand. “Come, we'll brew it together.”

He has brewed the potion before – he was Potions Master at a boarding school for nigh on two decades – but never for someone he loved. And he does love her, more than he could possibly imagine. When their relationship got serious, when she proclaimed she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, they had talked about children. It wasn't something either of them ever wanted, and Severus had been relieved.

The potion is finished a couple of hours later, and Hermione lets it cool in the goblet before swallowing it down in three long gulps.

“All right?” Severus asks, searching her face.

“I'm fine, love.”

When Ginny gives birth to Lily Luna Potter, Hermione is joyful. She coos over the baby as she holds her, and glancing up she meets Severus' eye. She smiles, and his mouth twitches up the way it does in public. To her, he's practically beaming. They will be the best Aunt and Uncle they can be, and that is exactly what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I should have to say this, but since I know this topic stirs up a lot of feelings: I believe in every woman's choice to do what is best for her. If you don't agree, there's a back button. I don't want any drama in the comment section.


	14. Salt

**SALT**

"Do you like it?"

She looked so pleased with herself, eyes bright with excitement and practically bouncing in her seat.

"Mmh," he hummed through a smile, trying to control every muscle in his face. Beautiful, wonderful Hermione. She had many talents, but cooking was not one of them. The soup tasted like a lake; somehow both bland and salty at the same time.

Her smile fell. "That bad?"

Reluctantly swallowing the soup, Severus put down his spoon. "I love you very much."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't patronise me. I tried, all right?"

He chuckled and reached out to touch her hand. "I know, love."

She huffed. "It's not that different from potions, I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with it."

Severus smirked. "Potions was never your strong suit either."

She gasped. "Rude." Rising, she took their bowls and dumped them in the sink. “Take away?”

Severus stood and pulled her close. He lowered his mouth to her neck, mumbling, “I think I'll start with the pudding.”


	15. Poor

**POOR**

She's only half awake, but she can hear the whispers. Poor girl, they say, to be disfigured this way. Poor Hermione. Poorpoorpoor. It makes her want to scream and cry and tell them all to fuck off. But she can't, so she doesn't. Instead she cries silently behind closed lids and tries not to think about the state of her chest. About the still healing wound that's split her chest into two halves and nearly killed her. She's lucky to be alive. Poor girl. She doesn't hear him approach until something metal – most likely a goblet – is placed on the bedside table.

“She's sleeping,” Poppy says, voice low. “Poor girl. She's going to have that scar for the rest of her life.”

“Do not pity the girl,” the Potions Master says. “She's strong , she doesn't need your pity.”

There is a pause, and she can hear Poppy sniffle. “She is strong. Poor girl.”


	16. Fish

**FISH**

Severus has been a teacher for a long time. More than half his life, to be precise. He knows how to deal with the students, and thanks to being a Head of House he also has some experience with the troubles of youths. What his career hasn't prepared him for, is the inane questions of an inquisitive four year old.

“Daddy?” his daughter asked, dark brows knitted together.

“What is it, love?”

“Why does the fish live in the water? There's no air there, how can they breathe?”

“Fish breathe differently than we do, that's why they can live underwater.”

“Oh.” She looks complementing at him. “I want to live with the fish.”

Severus chuckles. “Maybe when you're older. Come on, let's go help your mum with dinner.”


	17. Vault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by an amazing piece of fan art made by the disgustingly talented [Foxy](https://foxyloves.tumblr.com/post/627272733144776704/lightning-fields) on tumblr.

**VAULT**

Her steps echo in the empty corridor. Her patrol is almost over, and she ducks behind a tapestry which brings her to the eastern Charms corridor. When she reaches the staircase there are footsteps approaching.

She halts by the statue of a winged boar flanking the staircase, heart thudding. A dark figure appears, barely visible in the low light. His black eyes are glittering as they regard her.

“Miss Granger,” he says with a slight nod.

“Headmaster,” she replies.

She backs into the vaulted alcove underneath the stairs, eyes not leaving his. He stalks towards her, and his magic washes over her as a myriad of wards go up. Then he's on her; lips bruising against hers and fingers clenching in her hair. She pulls him close as he presses her against the wall, and her skirt rides up when he presses a knee between her thighs.

His mouth latches onto her neck and her head thuds back against the wall. He whispers fervent words against her ear as he touches her inner thigh, the edge of her knickers and finally her centre. He spreads her wetness around, thumb flicking against her clit and directing two fingers inside her.

She bites her lip, focusing on the feel and smell of him and the sensation caused by his fingers and mouth. The tension grows, coils deep in her belly, until it snaps and she shatters into a thousand pieces. Between the wall and his strong arm, she remains upright even though her knees are shaking.

When her knees finally stops shaking, she opens her eyes. “Your turn.” She spins them so it's him against the wall and she sinks to her knees.


	18. Kiss

**KISS**

They've only been dating – courting as he calls it – for a month and they are taking it frustratingly slow. Sometimes Hermione feels as if she's in a Regency romance; it's all lingering glances and fingers touching underneath the staff table. She has never felt more cherished than when Severus gives her that slight smile usually reserved for when they're alone.

Hermione stretches her body slowly, and her toes bump against his shins. It takes her a moment to realise that they've fallen asleep on the sofa in his quarters. Slowly opening her eyes she is greeted by Severus' sleeping face. The soft colours of dawn is bathing the room in a blue light. She gently raises a hand to touch the side of his face, running her thumb over his cheekbone and feeling the beginning of a five o'clock shadow.

He exhales sharply, turning his face into her hand as he starts to wake up. A few seconds later his eyes blink open. They settle on her face and soften.

“Morning,” he says, voice rough.

“Good morning.” She can't stop herself from smiling. Her thumb trails over his lips. They part slightly, and his breath is warm on the pad of her thumb.

Before she loses her courage, she leans in and presses her lips against his.


	19. Cold

**COLD**

Hermione rubs her hands together, peering out into the darkness. It's a bitter, cold night – the snow glitters in the reflection of the moon, and her breath comes out in white puffs. She shouldn't be outside at this time of night, but she must. She focuses her gaze in the distance. Is there something moving? There's a spot of black against the white snow. Her eyes widen.

He's back.

She practically bounces on the spot, waiting for him to come closer. He'll scold her for staying up, then chastise her for being outside in the cold, then sneer at her for caring. Insufferable man. He moves slowly towards the castle, the blackness of him stark against the white snow. She frowns. Something's wrong. He's never in a good shape when he returns from meeting You-Know-Who, but some nights are better than others.

All regards to her own safety forgotten, she heads out to meet him. The snow is deep and thick, and it's a struggle for her to move as hastily as she would like. Her stomach sinks when she sees crimson drops of blood in the white snow next to him.

“What the devil are you doing out here?” Severus barks, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. His face is ghostly pale, and his entire body is shaking.

“Making sure you don't freeze to death,” she replies, going to his side and wrapping an arm around his torso. She can feel every rib underneath her gloved hand, even through the layers of clothing.

“I neither want nor need your help,” he spits, but he leans against her as they continue walking towards the castle. He raises a trembling hand to push his hair behind his ear, and the glint from the moon catches in his wedding band, invisible to anyone but Hermione.

She sighs. “That might be true, but you're getting it anyway. I take my vows seriously.”

“In sickness and in health?” His tone is mocking. “Look where that got you.”

Hermione doesn't answer. It may not have been her first choice, but they're bound now and she will do what she must to see him through this war. He is too important to risk it.


	20. Rich

**RICH**

Severus blinks twice. “Are you sure this is correct?”

The small wizard with the slick hair nods nervously. “Yes, Mr Snape. Your maternal great-grandfather, Guildford Prince has written you as the sole benefactor to his fortune.”

Beside him, Hermione clears her throat. “And what does it entail?” She's handed a scroll of parchment from the wizard, who instructs them to read it over carefully and contact him if they have any questions.

She reads it aloud. “I, Guildford Prince, hereby proclaim that after my passing my assets shall be given to my great-grandson, Severus Tobias Snape. This includes, but is not limited to; Prince Manor in Winster, Derbyshire, a seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and the Prince vault at Gringotts which holds a value of ten million Galleons – _ten million Galleons_?” She gasps and meet his shocked face. “Severus, you're rich.”

“Oh.”


	21. Ice

**ICE**

Severus quirks his eyebrow, regarding his wife with a look that would make a first year cry. “Surely you're not serious?”

She has the audacity to smile, the wide smile that tugs on something inside him. “I am. It'll be fun. Please?”

He raises his eyes to the ceiling and sighs. It's inevitable, really. “As you wish. But if this goes wrong.”

But she's not listening. Instead, she squeals and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I'll get the skates.”

He will deny under pain of death how much he enjoys Hermione's red cheeks and lit up eyes as she skates around him on the pond near their cottage. He enjoys it almost as much as the hot bath they take later to warm themselves.


	22. House

**HOUSE**

She turns her head, not wanting him to see how her lower lip trembles. She's being silly, and she knows it. It's just a house. He rests his hand on her shoulder.

“Hermione?”

“Sorry,” she half laughs, wiping at her face. “I'm fine, I promise.”

“It's all right to be upset. You have a lot of memories from this house.”

Leaning back against Severus' chest, she surveys the empty sitting room. She found out she was a witch in this house, spent birthdays and Christmases and Easters at the dining table and on the chesterfield sofa in the sitting room. There is nothing left of those warm days now. Only the cold, harsh reality and a voicemail with a clipped voice saying to please not contact them again.

There's nothing left of what made this a home. Now, it's just a house.

She looks up at Severus, smiles slightly. He is her home now.

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Loathe it? Love it? Let me know.
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr!](https://morbidmuch.tumblr.com/) I'm friendly and sometimes funny.


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